Canvas for Love

by Charlotte Greene

  “Sit down, Amelia. Please.”

  She looked surprised and then upset, but I saw her try to calm down before sitting next to me again. We sat there in silence for a while, and then she laughed, bitterly.

  “What a fuckup I am, Chloé. I’m sorry. You see right through me now.”

  “I should hope I do. Love sees all, and I love you, Amelia.”

  Her eyes flickered up to mine, hopeful. “Even when I’m a complete asshole?”

  “Even then.”

  She sighed and looked me straight in the eyes. For the first time, I could see the depth of her pain. “I want to be happy for you, Chloé. I really do. And I know I will be—eventually. It’s just a shock, that’s all. And I shouldn’t be shocked. Like I said, I knew this was coming. Eventually.”

  “But you want me to take the job?” I couldn’t keep the note of pleading from my voice.

  She smiled, and this time the smile seemed more genuine. “Of course I do, Chloé. Of course. I would never, ever want you to change your plans for me. You’ve worked so hard for just this kind of thing. You deserve it. And I know you’ll be great at it.”

  I met her smile, my eyes welling with tears. She’d finally said exactly what I needed to hear. We could move on from here and be stronger for it. I knew it.

  “I love you,” she said. “I just want you to be happy. I’m sorry I didn’t think of that first. That’s all that matters to me.”

  I stood up, and she looked surprised.

  “Come on,” I said. “I want to show you something in the bedroom.”

  * * *

  When I woke up the next morning, I was disappointed to see Amelia’s side of the bed empty. She sent me a text explaining that she’d gone into work, the time mark on it long before the sun rose. Although she and I had been incredibly busy before our trip, our time away had still put several things behind schedule. I was a little guilty about not joining her today to help out, but on the other hand, I wasn’t about to turn down a couple more days off. This was the busy season at the office, and I would be back at it soon enough. God knows when I would have another day off.

  I spent the day in my studio, happy to have time alone to paint. I didn’t worry about Amelia until much later, when I realized she hadn’t called or texted me all afternoon. That was unusual for her. Even on a busy day, she would send me an update or two, and today I had nothing from her. By dinnertime, I was getting anxious, and by late evening, I was really starting to panic. Unless her phone was dead, this was incredibly unlike her. I couldn’t help but think it might have something to do with our conversation the night before. She was likely still smarting from the idea of my departure and didn’t want to upset me by being less than supportive.

  It hurt to know this about her, but on the other hand, I understood all too well that it was possible to be both happy and disappointed about a situation at the same time. Aunt Kate’s upcoming wedding presented the same situation for me. While I was excited and happy for her, I was also deeply hurt by the idea that she was going to move away. It was selfish of me, and I knew that, but that didn’t necessarily mean I could bury my hurt feelings immediately. The best thing I could do now, I knew, was simply avoid seeing Kate for a few days until I got used to the idea. I was pretty sure Amelia was doing the same thing.

  Amelia finally texted close to midnight, apologizing for her silence. She blamed it on work, but I knew that wasn’t the whole story. I decided to let her have a day or two and then confront her if she didn’t get her head out of her ass.

  My resolve to wait faltered on Sunday afternoon. I’d spent so much time by myself the last couple of days, I was actually starting to get lonely. Meghan was working all weekend, and I wasn’t ready to see Aunt Kate again, but mostly I wanted to see my girlfriend, and I wanted us to get past this. I put real clothes on for the first time in two days, and just as I was pulling on my jacket, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the local number calling, but as I got so many work calls on my cell, I answered it anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “Chloé? This is Daphne Waters. Amelia’s friend?”

  It took me a moment to remember her. I’d met her once in New York at an extravagant dinner. She was a rich, older woman and a friend of Amelia’s family. She’d shown up at a party in New York with a posse of young, handsome men, all of whom were apparently paid arm candy to make her look powerful and attractive. I’d found her amusing and harmless until she set Amelia up with her ex-girlfriend Sara for a surprise lunch. Amelia hadn’t explained why she’d done this, but I’d gathered since that Daphne and Sara were old friends.

  It took a lot of willpower to keep my response civil. “Hello, Miss Waters. How can I help you?”

  “Ooh, Miss Waters, no less. You are a charmer. I haven’t been a ‘miss’ for twenty years or more, at least according to French custom.”

  “Is there a purpose to your call?” I asked.

  “Well, you have no reason to be so snappish, darling. This isn’t a social call. Amelia gave me your number.”

  I was stunned. “Amelia did what?”

  “She gave me your number because I’m doing a little work with her, silly. Didn’t she mention this to you?”

  She hadn’t, but several months at Winters Corporation had taught me to play along with almost anything customers said. It didn’t pay to look like you had no idea what was happening in another part of the office. Still, I decided to remain a little evasive.

  “What can I help you with, Ms. Waters?”

  “Well, you see, darling, there’s a problem. Amelia told me she had you scheduled for a consultation with me this Wednesday, but I’m going out of town on Tuesday. It’s a last-minute thing, you see.”

  “I’m sure if you call the office, Janet can reschedule at a time more convenient for you.”

  “That’s just the problem. I’ve been calling and calling, and I can’t seem to get anyone on the line, and when I do, I get put on hold. I don’t know what’s happening over there at the office, but y’all need to get some more help to answer the phones. Anyway, I was hoping we could reschedule, just the two of us, and cut out the middleman, as it were.”

  I was annoyed. This happened, occasionally, when a client was pushy enough to get my phone number, which was why I always asked Amelia and Janet to withhold it in almost every case. I could only imagine that Amelia had agreed to give it to her because she was a family friend.

  “Okay, Ms. Waters. Let me get my schedule out, and we’ll see what I can do.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” she said. “I’m calling because I wanted to see if you’re available now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. I’m swamped before my trip, but I have the afternoon free today. I thought I would call and see if you’re busy.”

  I hesitated before answering her. Technically, I was free, but on the other hand, I hated to set a precedent with any client that I could drop whatever I was doing and come at will, especially on a weekend. Still, I knew Daphne Waters was incredibly wealthy. I’d seen her entourage of followers, her gowns, and her jewelry, and I knew she had a large house in the French Quarter. For customers with that kind of money, it was usually worth being a little flexible with your schedule since it flattered them. Being rude to her might ruin the sale.

  “Yes, I can meet you now,” I told her. “Shall I come to your house?”

  “Oh no, that’s not necessary. I’m at the Club right now. Can you meet me here?”

  “Certainly. I can be there shortly.”

  “That’s wonderful, Chloé. Thank you so much. I’ll give your name to the gate.”

  “I’m not really dressed for anything fancy. Is that all right?”

  “Completely. It’s Sunday afternoon. The rules are relaxed around here now.”

  “Okay. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  I walked out the door a moment later and headed for my car. The New Orleans Country Club was actually somewhat close to work, and I headed in that dir
ection on autopilot. While New Orleans has several more exclusive social clubs, any socialite like Daphne Waters nevertheless stayed on the rosters at the Club, for mostly sociopolitical purposes. It looked good to be on the books there, even if you weren’t interested in golf or tennis. I knew, for example, that Amelia and her entire family were lifelong members because of their generous donations and patronage, though I was pretty sure none of them set foot in there on a regular basis. Brushing elbows with the wealthy elite over the last few months had taught me several things, prime of which was that they liked to spend money on things that made them look good to others.

  My name was indeed listed at the gate, and I think it also helped that I was driving a new Mercedes. Despite all my recent time around this kind of people, I still had terrible imposter syndrome. I was always terrified lest they see the real, near-impoverished me and drive me away like the poor cousin I was.

  I held out my keys to the valet, who gave my clothing a once-over before taking them. While my outfit was nicer than the paint-splattered rags I’d been wearing the last couple of days, I was dressed very casually. I had on an old, comfy pair of jeans, a green canvas coat, and a blue pashmina. Trying to shrug off my appearance, I walked up the little stairs and inside, asking the host directions to the bar. He too looked me up and down before pointing the way, and I couldn’t help but flush warmly at the rudeness.

  When I entered the bar, I was surprised to find it nearly empty. The sun was shining outside for the first time in days, and I’d seen several people on the golf course, enjoying the warmth. Then I remembered what Meghan had told us the other night about the weekend after Mardi Gras and wondered if it was also the case here. After drinking heavily for four or five days straight, people were taking the weekend off.

  I spotted Daphne immediately and was surprised to see that she wasn’t alone. The person she was with had her back to me, and the sunlight coming in through the windows made it hard to see either one of them for a moment. Something about the set of the woman’s shoulders rang a dull bell of recognition in my head. I’d seen her somewhere, recently.

  Daphne spotted me and waved, and as the other woman turned, the sunlight hid her features for a second. Then it all came together. It was the woman from the birthday gala—the one I’d seen several times from behind.

  It was Sara.

  Chapter Ten

  For a moment, I could barely breathe—the sight of Sara knocked the wind out of me. I realized then just how badly I’d been duped and how stupid I’d been to fall for Daphne’s scheme. She’d done exactly the same thing to me as she’d done to Amelia, yet here I was, walking into the same trap. Amelia would never give my number out to someone without asking, or at least telling me about it, family friend or not. I’d let my insecurity blind me to a very obvious ruse.

  Daphne was all smiles, beckoning with wild, waving arms. Sara was looking at me evenly, her expression impossible to read. I wanted to turn around and leave. It would have been the smartest thing to do. I would still look like a fool for showing up, but I wouldn’t be fully manipulated into whatever these women were planning. However, my anger got the best of me, and I marched directly over to them, my feet pounding on the polished wooden floor.

  “How dare you?” I said, my voice just lower than a shout. Only a few other patrons were in here, but they all turned to look at us.

  Daphne colored slightly but gave me a wide smile. “Chloé, please be civil. I’d hate to lose my clubhouse privileges over a little…misunderstanding.”

  “Misunderstanding? Are you kidding me? And I could give a damn about your privileges.”

  We’d caused enough commotion to bring the host to the doorway of the barroom, and Daphne waved him away. “We’re okay!” she said to him. She looked at me. “Aren’t we?”

  I didn’t respond, too angry to speak without shouting. Daphne sat back down in her chair and indicated the free one next to her. I stared at her for a long moment, feeling mutinous enough to slap her in the face. I spent a long moment marshaling my anger. While I was angrier than I think I’d ever been, I was also curious. Sara had physically assaulted me, and she had haunted my dreams and nightmares for months. Yet here she was, sitting as casually as if we’d once been introduced at a party.

  The last time I’d been close to her, she’d seemed unhinged, deranged even. Here in this exclusive place, she looked unruffled, casual. I put one hand in my purse on my phone, ready to pull it out in an emergency, took a deep breath, and made my way to the other chair directly across from Sara. Her face remained calm, and she and I simply stared at each other without speaking for a long pause. Her eyes looked a little amused, but her expression was otherwise blank and composed.

  “There now,” said Daphne, clearly pleased. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  I broke eye contact with Sara and looked at Daphne. “Just what the hell do you want to prove by bringing me here?” I gestured toward Sara. “After the way she acted the first time we met, I should be calling the police.” I managed kept my voice low when I spoke, but only just.

  “I wanted the both of you to clear the air a little. Like I said, there’s been a kind of misunderstanding. Sara is a dear friend of mine, and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about her.”

  “She attacked me!” This time I did shout, and several people looked over at us again.

  Daphne held her hands up toward them and me defensively. “I’m not saying what Sara did was right. But she regrets it. She’s told me as much.”

  I looked at Sara. “So she speaks for you? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

  Sara shrugged. “I told Daphne this was a stupid idea, but she insisted. I knew you wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

  “I don’t.”

  She shrugged again and looked at Daphne. “This is a waste of time.”

  “Now, ladies,” Daphne said. “If you both attempt to be a bit more civil, we can make some real progress today. Shall I order us some cocktails?”

  I glared at her, and she held her hands up again. “Okay! No cocktails. It was just an idea. Help break the ice and all that.”

  I looked back at Sara. “I still don’t understand what this is all about. The last time I saw you, you threatened my life. And my aunt’s life. Why should I speak to you?”

  Daphne broke in again. “Like I said, it was all a misunderstanding. Though maybe that’s not the best phrase here. Call it a misstep, if you will. Sara was…let’s just say she was a little worked up. Not thinking clearly.”

  I glared at Sara. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  Sara rolled her eyes. “Daphne, this is ridiculous. It’s obvious this woman can’t listen to reason.”

  Daphne tutted and touched Sara’s shoulder. “Patience, my dear. I respect Amelia too much to dismiss this girl out of hand. There’s clearly more to her than meets the eye. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Sara hesitated and then nodded, though obviously reluctant to admit as much.

  “So if we know that, it might behoove you to try, n’est-ce pas?”

  Again, after a pause, she nodded.

  “Good. Then it’s settled. Now I’m going to absent myself and let the two of you get better acquainted. I hope you’ll both be on your best behavior.” She stood, her bangles and jewelry ringing together on her arms and fingers. She walked directly over to the bar proper and sat down, out of earshot but within sight, possibly in case something happened.

  Sara and I continued to regard each other in cold silence. This was the first time I’d gotten a good look at her since she attacked me, and she seemed completely different in this context. Her face was narrow, with high cheekbones and flawless, olive skin. She had beautiful dark, shoulder-length wavy hair, which she’d brushed back from her face. Her lashes and brows were also very dark, framing a pair of deep-brown eyes. Her clothes were tasteful, clearly tailored, and she was wearing a band of platinum or white gold with little diamonds on the ring finger of her left hand. Though darker
overall, she reminded me strongly of Amelia’s mother. She had that same cold, remote beauty.

  She was obviously absorbing me in the same way I was absorbing her, going so far as to lean forward onto her elbows on the table to get a better look at me. Finally, she sat back, her face finally showing some emotion—confusion.

  “Well, I suppose you’re pretty,” she said. “In a girl-next-door kind of way.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  She shrugged. “Take it as you will. I just don’t get it.”

  “Don’t get what?”

  “What Amelia sees in you.”

  “And how is that any of your business?” I asked.

  She didn’t immediately reply. Instead, I watched as her face shifted briefly from anger back to calm again—the rage there disappearing almost as fast as it’d appeared. The transformation and cover-up were terrifying, and my heart rate picked up with fear. She was like a coiled snake. She sat forward again but kept her hands in her lap, clasped together as if to keep them controlled. After simply staring at me quietly, something else crossed through her eyes—sorrow. Her eyes welled up with tears, and for a moment I was sure she would start crying. She blinked rapidly a few times, looked up at the ceiling, and then wiped her eyes.

  “I’m so stupid, Chloé,” she finally said. “I don’t even know why you’re sitting here listening to me.”

  “I’m wondering the same thing.”

  She still looked hurt, but she nodded. She stared at me evenly before going on. “I was going to do something stupid again. Like the last time I saw you…but to myself. In front of you.”

  That was possibly one of the worst things I’d ever heard, and my heart swelled with pity. I certainly didn’t want her to hurt us or herself—in fact, that was the last thing I wanted.